


kindle a flame

by heavenbreak



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: First Kiss, Love Confessions, M/M, Post-Canon, Tea, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 04:02:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17974097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenbreak/pseuds/heavenbreak
Summary: "Now, there's something on your mind.""If I recall correctly, just a minute ago, it was you with something on your mind.""Okay, maybe there's something on both of our minds.""And what, we admit it to each other? What are we? A couple of teens that fancy a shag?"





	kindle a flame

**Author's Note:**

> this fic contains  
> footnotes  
> fun botanical facts  
> unrealistic conversations but what do you have left when youre older than six thousand years  
> insufferable gits  
> feelings  
> 6 times the author has namedropped God Himself  
> unanswered questions  
> the author uses american english like a fucking idiot  
> bookshops  
> the authors attempt to grasp the characters in writing so this fic is just nothing really  
> "do you love me?" dialogue

"It sure is a beautiful night." Crowley's hands made a shuffling sound as they ducked into his coat's warm and roomy pockets.

Aziraphale shivered. _Isn't Crowley cold-blooded, and if he were, should that interfere with his taking pleasure in such frigid weather?_ Perhaps, after six thousand years there were still plenty of things to learn about his... adversary. His questions trailed off into the night like the dimly lit clouds quickly floating against the sky.

"I should've brought an extra coat." Each word the angel spoke brought on a puff of fog from his breath. He watched the clouds of white disperse from his mouth.

"No worries, on our way back 'fter all."

Aziraphale followed Crowley's gaze upwards--- the moon was full tonight, they could see, though partly from the clouds, that it was shining brightly against the darkness almost like it outshone each lamppost they pass by in this brisk walk back to Aziraphale's bookshop. It was nice to look at the moon. It never failed to amaze him, to see the craters of the satellite in striking detail even if it was so far up, perched in the middle of emptiness. It looked perfect in proportion, he thought, until he remembered that it's how it should be.

Crowley cleared his throat, to speak once more, "... or, do you want to borrow mine 'til the end of the walk?"

Aziraphale smiled, a little too knowing. And then he shook his head. "No, thank you, dear."

They arrived in no time. Each of them shook off the snow from their coats before stepping inside for a cup of hot tea as promised by the host of the two of them during their stroll at the park. Crowley seemed rather upset that the ducks appear to have migrated elsewhere--- the lake was frozen over and there were none of their feathered friends in sight. Crowley would never admit that he missed the waddling fellows, but Aziraphale sensed an inkling of sorrow in his demeanor just as well as he tried to hide it.

It took six thousand years, but by now Aziraphale could read Crowley almost as well as reading a book. There were several things Crowley could do that did nothing but puzzle the bibliophile, however.

"Your plants are in terrible condition, angel," he pointed at the tall cacti seeming to conquer the height of his window. It mutated against all odds, over the course of winter, to greedily acquire most of the sunlight that came through the glass. Aziraphale knew next to nothing about plants, but he supposed that should not happen*. He ought to give it a stern talk about one of the deadliest sins, _gluttony_. "He's all... happy. and monstrous. Are you sure you didn't miracle it into becoming a giant by happenstance?"

* * *

* Being in presence of an angel's loving aura does freaky things.

* * *

"Oh, I'll scold it later."

"You never do," the demon rolls his eyes.

"Feed it vile words, tell it it's been a naughty plant and it should be ashamed. Shouldn't you, Jeremy?"

"Are you _mocking_ me?"

"Hold on just a jiffy, I'm thinking who else would it be..."

"I do not--- assign my plants such... boring nomenclature!"

The pair go on like that for quite a while, talking about how to properly 'parent' a plant, with Crowley taking advantage of his ownership of what seems to be a billion plants that occupied the entire space of his flat, and Aziraphale citing made-up quotes from made-up botany books that he lied about being in possession of (Crowley being too fed up to fact check)--- but no. He wasn't really lying. Some nights you really ought to accidentally miracle unique botanical discoveries that never existed until that night. How does one suppose apples and strawberries came to be a part of the rose family? The Botanical Division of Organic Creation scrambled in their places for that one.

Years later Aziraphale will come to wonder if he were ever really meant to become just a Principality.

"Who do you suppose cultivated the... the first potatoes in Peru 7,000 years ago?" Aziraphale waved in front of his face maniacally. Crowley lightly slapped the back of his head.

"Potatoes didn't exist until about 5,300 years ago, you insufferable---" Upon taking a step forward, Crowley trips on a bumpy part of Aziraphale's ugly, Godforsaken carpet and breaks a vase with a different plant who looks to be in a poorer condition. "Great. Put it out of its misery," he spat, immediately feeling remorse. " I should bring a flattening iron in here and flatten your place up."

"That would be delightful. By all means, it would be of the _utmost_. Convenience." he said nothing else, after that, and the pair soon return to sipping at their teas after Crowley could only resign to chuckling to himself, picking up the broken pieces of the clay pot and disposing of the already-dead plant before he could propose that they should hold a funeral for it.

There were several things a demon could do that did nothing but puzzle Aziraphale.

"Are we done?"

"I suppose." We bicker like an old, married couple, Aziraphale thought to himself and blushed. Old, perhaps. Married...? "Do you ever wonder if, er... things have changed?"

"Things change all the time, angel. It's human nature, you told me that."

"No, dear, it's," he paused, "The apocalypse-that-wasn't," another nervous sip at his tea, "Has... anything... really changed since then?" They cycle through this same conversation once every other week. Crowley's grown used to it.

"Hm..." Aziraphale took a sip on his Earl Grey while the other contemplated. "Well, a more grandiose question to answer is, has it been better?"

To _not_ answer the question: for one, those _feelings_ the angel happened to feel had suddenly become much, much more intense. It was as if the presence of their superiors had disappeared, somehow, in the anticlimax of their efforts planning for the Armageddon that suspiciously discontinued. Now, as he awaits further instruction from Above after months of dead air, He then felt no sense of urgency, or, or _purpose_ \--- other than attending to his more 'humanly' desires. Which were close to none, but only a few had, in fact, existed.

Were angels capable of feeling an urge to pursue... further companionship?

Aziraphale was. But he hadn't been in close contact with any of the other angels to ask them himself. He only had Crowley, and maybe that was the source of these foreign* sentiments. All this time cooped up, barely cooperating with his kind and corresponding with the other.

* * *

* As foreign sentiments could be when one had become quite familiar with centuries of unbearable languish and longing, occupying himself with gentlemen of similar calibre but never finding anything quite enough---

* * *

"You're doing it." Crowley abruptly interrupted the rather distasteful train of thought with his off-handed sounding comment.

"Pardon me?"

"Looking at me like that."

"I was just thinking."

"Ah yes, you tend to do that quite a lot when you're not talking." The demon muttered under his breath, though Aziraphale could still hear.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Crowley shrugged, nonchalant. Aziraphale swallowed. "My dear, I really think you should finish your tea."

With his demon-reading skills (which, so far, by circumstance, has only applied to exactly one demon only), Aziraphale concluded that Crowley had been bottling something up, and channeling some sort of his guilt through other means like berating his friend more than necessary but in ways that it wouldn't bother either party. And if his assumptions were correct, it was nothing like a hot drink can't fix.

"Thank you." Crowley quickly said, setting the cup down. Aziraphale smiled, mellow.

"Now, there's something on your mind."

"If I recall correctly, just a minute ago, it was you with something on your mind."

"Okay, maybe there's something on both of our minds."

"And what, we admit it to each other? What are we? A couple of teens that fancy a shag?"

Aziraphale sputtered, "Wh--- what? No. Where...? Ugh. We're not..."

 _Admit_. Crowley never cared for atypical vernacular, but there was something behind that word.

"...You're right. We're not." was what Aziraphale settled for. Was this a conversation to have another night, when the both of them are completely inebriated, he'd already saved a day, time, and place in mind for it to happen--- just in case. "Boy, I am tired. Dear, it's been a long day, you ought to head back." Aziraphale waited for the other's response fully expecting him to protest and stay, so by then, he could confirm that he's procrastinated enough in confronting him about it. Crowley nodded in affirmation, however. _Ah._

"...rrrrrright. Do we any plans for tomorrow?"

"I think it's time I tend the shop for a full working day. I haven't paid my bills in years." Perhaps next Saturday, 10 in the evening, at his flat, he'd already stored away in his mind. Crowley laughed at that, the Heavenly sound bringing a smile to Aziraphale's worried eyes.

"You're a lazy, cheating bastard. That's one of many things I like about you. See you then, cheers." His final words before standing up to walk and shutting the door behind him, leaving Aziraphale a flushed mess.

But, the same time as the part of his door that makes the clicking sound, something inside Aziraphale's divine brain clicks. A loud, boisterous, and sounding protest that came from his heart wracked his body enough that somehow, with the full, throttling force of all the choirs of heaven, Aziraphale was willed to get up himself and reach for the doorknob, tearing his door open wide. In a matter of seconds, snowflakes decorated the poorly designed rags at the opening as Aziraphale shouted.

"Crowley!"

The demon whose name was spoken could have snapped his neck turning his head, sunglasses jumping slightly on his crooked nose.

"You... er... you forgot!" He's already walked a ways away*, so there was a reason to shout, this time.

* * *

* His Bentley was parked a block away, as Aziraphale's nosy neighbors had been complaining either about the car blocking a driveway that didn't exist and on some occasions, its throttle had woken up the whole neighborhood in the middle of the afternoon.

* * *

"What!?"

"...something! You forgot something!"

"Did I!?"

"Yes!"

"I don't remember bringing anything with me!"

"Oh, will you please just--- come over here for just one minute!"

Crowley grumbled under his breath as he made his way back to the bookshop. "You were practically pushing me out the door just a second ago..."

First thought, best thought. The conversation didn't feel finished, no. None of their conversations ever do, and each time Crowley leaves his flat, or drops him off at the bookshop after a hearty meal at the Ritz, or sends Aziraphale away to commute all the way back, there were always things left unsaid and it drove him mad.

They spend the entire night drinking heavily and talking about everything they could in the world, but they'll never be drunk enough to just... talk.

"I only want you to talk to me, dear," Aziraphale said, once Crowley was back at his doorstep with snowflakes in his hair. "Come on."

"What on _Earth_ are you talking about?" Crowley replied, exasperated.

"You know what I'm talking about, don't you?"

"Well, it just seems to me like _you've_ got an awful lot to talk about, yourself."

It occurred to both of them that they may never work up the nerve to talk about it, ever. Six thousand years and many, many crushes later, they knew it was there but none of them had ever learned how to pick it up. So Aziraphale did the next best thing.

"If we can't simply talk just..." His hands flew up to Crowley's coat by the collar, gripping the hems tightly. Aziraphale hands shook in the cold, the breeze of the winter entering his bookshop and changing the whole temperature of the building. He would be annoyed about that much, much later. Only because Crowley's nose is red from the cold, and there was a snowflake on his eyebrow. And the man had never looked more beautiful under layers and layers of expensive clothing the angel was sure he miracled for himself.

"...what," Crowley said, voice soft. But all sounds were amplified to his ears, the crunch of the snow under his feet, and the car that passed by on the street behind him, now Aziraphale's breath brushing under his chin were the only sounds that seemed to exist on earth.

Aziraphale shut his eyes, tight. He took a deep breath but ended up short in supply when he felt an extra pair of lips gently planted on his own.

 _Oh_ , the voice in his mind sang. A simple word, really, but with it carried the power of the Heavens coming down on their lips, and hands, and lungs. Aziraphale realized he wasn't breathing. They'd kissed before, he suddenly remembered. Forgotten in the first place because they were both needlessly intoxicated with wine and gin and various poisons the other times and it usually meant close to nothing.

But here, there were feelings. Oh, _feelings_. Crowley had them, too, Aziraphale thought as the former's tongue slithered between his lips and it was like tasting a new kind of fruit. The sweetest, and sourest of them all. The ones he liked best.

Crowley stepped forward into the shop, Aziraphale's feet shuffling backward against the carpet. The door was shut behind them, a coat haphazardly hung on the rack. It was so, so cold in the room, but they were both hot and flushed. They eventually stopped kissing, and it felt like a smirk that belonged to Crowley was wiped off of Aziraphale's face. When he opened his eyes, it was like waking up from a pleasant dream with lights glowing obnoxiously in his face.

"We should stop." The demon was panting, voice breathy and hot against the others' cheek.

"What's wrong, my dear?"

"I don't want to be the reason you Fall."

"I won't _Fall_ , why would I Fall?"

Aziraphale waited while the other paused, deep in thought. After a peculiar amount of silence, he finally spoke.

"Then do you... love me?" As soon as the words slipped out of Crowley's mouth like the tongue he used to pleasantly prod against Aziraphale's not more than twelve breaths ago, time seemed like it could have stopped. It didn't, though, it felt like it to Aziraphale. He blinked once, then twice. Three times for good measure.

"I love all things created by God." It was like an automatic response. As automatic as when Crowley peeled away ever so slightly, much to the angel's dismay.

As a Principality, Aziraphale loved all of God's creation just the same. Like when he 'loved' the moon, for being proportionally beautiful. Like when he 'loved' the people of earth, for manipulating their God-given free will into unexpected, ineffable ways. Most days it didn't deserve to be dignified with 'love', as those days he felt like he only needed to find a reaction for the lack of understanding in the way the cogs worked. He dreaded finding no other reason for the everything that could have existed, and he bore that unenlightenment since he came to be.

It would be a pain, to think of why. Until he discovered ineffability, in his first real conversation with Crowley at the beginning of everything.

After all, love was only ever part of his job description.

But came Crowley, not the first time, he remembers it was close to the seven hundredth time when... feelings, began. Of the un-Principality sort. He loved Crowley, for the ways he couldn't have been created by God. He was a stagger in the continuum of the way God intended things should be. And he liked the way how that would only stay between them.

"Oh. Really, then... I don't think we should, er, do this."

"No, you absolute git. It's when--- it's when I know, I should love them all. It used to be just a quota to fill, to--- to love them in this way. but then there's the way I..."

"'I'...?"

"... I love _you_."

"Oh." was all Crowley could say in response.

"It's different, you see." Aziraphale continued, feeling like Crowley still couldn't grasp the implication. A long time ago, he thought--- no, he believed demons were incapable of love. But things change. Maybe it's worth to try explaining.

"Different, how?"

"It's---"

"Never mind, don't finish that." _ineffable_ , Aziraphale could only finish in his mind, as his mouth (that he used to speak) were once again occupied by the gracious feeling of Crowley's lips against his.

Aziraphale watched when Crowley moved with a grace only specific to himself. He thought how each finger that deftly danced on his own skin was severely, mathematically calculated by the pressing fate of the universe, seeing fit for each detail and nuance of his movement shall never be recreated by any other expression of his hands.

At this moment, words could no longer be exchanged between them. Their truest sentiments, their deepest passions and fears were communicated through their wandering hands and their feeling skins, like reading braille on the bumps of their bare flesh--- these scars, remnants of a battle they won together. In a life-ending scenario, or rather, an everything-ending scenario, they chose to be with each other. And they damn deserve to be with each other, kissing each other senseless atop Aziraphale's horrid tartan couch (how did they end up there?), cradling each other like they're all they have.

Perhaps he was all he had. All he will ever have. There's something in the way they had themselves and the world that just made sense.

Crowley wasn't like any of God's creation. Crowley was Crowley, just as much as Aziraphale was Aziraphale. So, so different. And it became un-ineffable. Each sounding breath released after they pulled apart were like tides, calming down after the big waves. It pleased them both.

"I love you," Crowley said, after a comfortable silence. " I've known for quite some time. Didn't know how to tell you. Perhaps I really didn't have to." The words exploded in Aziraphale's mind, enough to crash him down and derange his senses to finally knock some more into him.

They fell asleep on the couch together, many hours later.

* * *

_It sure was a beautiful night._

**Author's Note:**

> YELL AT ME ON BIMNOODLES DOT TUMBLR DOT COM


End file.
